


Intervention

by writergirl8



Series: Stydia-fanfiction prompts [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Scott is a Good Friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 13:45:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7642924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writergirl8/pseuds/writergirl8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Are you in love with my best friend?”</p><p>“I’m not in love with your mom, no.”</p><p>(If somebody is going to be here for Lydia, she wants Allison. Not Scott. Not Stiles’ best friend, who probably is just happy that his buddy is finally getting laid, and isn’t that so like men?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intervention

**Author's Note:**

> A year-old prompt from Stydia-fanfiction. 
> 
> Prompt: Scott catches Lydia looking at Stalia jealously. They have a conversation about it that Stiles overhears. Later that night, Stiles comes to confront Lydia

If Scott McCall knew better, he would leave it alone.   
  
A smarter boy would shut off the puppy-dog look in his eyes, turn around, and walk away from Lydia’s locker, leaving behind the zip-lock bag of oreos that he had clearly brought to ease her into it. However, as intelligent as Scott is, he is not nearly as intelligent as Lydia, and this, she suspects, is why he ends up holding the bag up and offering her a hopeful smile.  
  
“Hungry?”  
  
“No,” she says shortly, slamming the door to her locker shut. Scott raises his eyebrows at her, eyes drifting down to the way Lydia’s knuckles are white from where she’s clutching her chem textbook. “Fine,” she says, and she snatches the bag from where it dangles between Scott’s thumb and index finger before turning on her heel and stomping down the hallway.   
  
“Come on, Lydia,” Scott wheedles, following at her heels. “You gotta talk about this.”  
  
“No I don’t,” she says, staring straight ahead as she marches through the hallway. “Go to class, McCall.”  
  
“But I saw the way you-” She knows. She knows that he saw her wince when Malia had kissed Stiles earlier today. It’s impossible not to wince when she thinks about the fact that those same lips had been pressed up against Lydia’s earlier that year, making her feel calmer than she’s ever felt in her life. Lydia wants to know if she would feel that again, were she to kiss Stiles a second time. She hypothesizes that she would, and then some, because after that kiss– after the realization that she was falling in love with him– her feelings had only intensified. And now Lydia isn’t even allowed to test her hypothesis, because Stiles is kissing Malia. Kissing her, and living with her, and that’s just it.   
  
She thinks that she’s been walking on hot-coals since they kissed for the first time. She thinks that she’s not going to be back on solid ground until they do it again.   
  
“I can smell emotions,” Scott points out, trodding after her like the loyal puppy dog that he is. “There’s literally no hiding from this. I can smell it on y-”  
  
“Fine!” Lydia snaps, stopping short so that Scott slams into her back. She turns around, taking a calming breath at he stares at his eyes. God, he’s such a fucking puppy dog. “You want to talk? Let’s talk. But not here.”  
  
It only takes one victorious smile for Lydia to regret this decision, but Scott is already tugging on her sleeve to get her to follow him into the classroom that they are standing in front of, which is devoid of students. Lydia sets her purse on the floor as Scott shuts the door behind them, and her annoyed glare is already at full throttle by the time he’s turned around.   
  
“So,” he says casually. “How are you?”  
  
“Ugh,” Lydia sighs, crossing her arms. “Scott. Get to the point. I could graduate high school faster than you’re getting this out.”  
  
“Well, whose fault is that?” he asks, looking slightly hurt. “Look, Lydia, I’m the leader of the pack, and it’s my responsibility to take care of all my…. packees?”  
  
“Just stick with pack members.”  
  
“Got it,” he nods. “It’s my job to take care of the members of my pack and make sure they’re okay. And you don’t seem super okay. You actually seem kind of not okay.”   
  
“Genius observation,” Lydia mutters to herself, forever on the defensive.   
  
“Hey, thanks!” Scott replies proudly. He places a hand on her arm. “So… you know. Speaking as the leader of your pack and all… are you in love with my best friend?”  
  
“I’m not in love with your mom, no.”  
  
“Lydia.”  
  
She harrumphs loudly, throwing her hands up in the air.   
  
“What do you want me to say, Scott? Will admitting it out loud make you feel better?”  
  
“Will it make you feel better?”  
  
“Not in the slightest,” she responds, beginning to pace.  
  
“Lydia. Have you even admitted it out loud? Ever?”  
  
She stops moving. Stares at him.  
  
“Um.”  
  
Scott moves forward, expression so disgustingly earnest.   
  
“Look, I know that Allison is the person you would be talking to about this. But Allison…” he hesitates, and for a moment, the air in the room seems to change. The knowledge that they are the two people in this school building that miss Allison the most is suddenly heavy in the air, looming over their conversation. Scott blinks. “She isn’t able to be here for you right now. And I know… I know she would want somebody to be.”  
  
If somebody is going to be here for Lydia, she wants Allison. Not Scott. Not Stiles’ best friend, who probably is just happy that his buddy is finally getting laid, and isn’t that so like men?  
  
“It isn’t your business,” Lydia says, but she hops up onto the teacher’s desk anyways, settling in for a conversation. The bell rings, but neither of them pay it any mind. Scott has study hall, and Lydia is… Lydia.   
  
He lopes over to the desk and sits next to her, not touching her at all.   
  
“Stiles has been in love with you since we were eight. It kind of feels like my business.”  
  
“Well, he isn’t anymore.”  
  
“Why would you think that?”  
  
Lydia laughs, turning her head only so that she can give him the most exasperated look she has in her arsenal.  
  
“He’s with Malia. That doesn’t leave a lot of room for a dumb crush from third grade.”  
  
Scott’s eyes soften.   
  
“You were never just a dumb crush to Stiles.”  
  
It’s easier not to think about it, so Lydia closes her eyes and stares at her red nails, trying to find flaws in the manicure.   
  
“I don’t… Look, Scott, it’s nice of you to be concerned, but talking about this isn’t going to help me.”  
  
“I saw the way you looked when Malia kissed Stiles,” he says. “I already know. I just need you to say it out loud.”  
  
“Who does that benefit?”  
  
“You!” he replies insistently. “Come on, Lydia. Say it. Out loud. Just say it and we can move on with our lives.”  
  
“That’s the thing!” she says, beginning to yell as her stomach clenches in response to his words. “You don’t have to live with this! I say it and you move on with your life feeling like a good person for paying attention to the mentally insane banshee. Meanwhile, I’m stuck with this. Being in love with him is fucking ingrained in me at this point, Scott, and I can’t run from it. I can’t walk away from it like you can. So forgive me if I don’t want to make it any more real than it already is. It already hurts enough.”   
  
Scott breathes in her direction, his eyes wide from being yelled at. And Lydia crumbles into herself, hiding for the first time as she places her head in her hands, needing a moment to exist in the darkness of her cupped palms.   
  
“Lydia?”  
  
The voice that speaks isn’t Scott.  
  
Oh shit.   
  
—   
  
Lydia narrowly avoids Stiles for the rest of the day.   
  
She manages to squeeze her way to the back of the library and remain there through her entire lunch period, knees drawn up to her chest, book propped up on it. Processing the words is almost impossible when she can’t stop thinking about what happened earlier, but she does her best to shut it out.   
  
He’s only in one of her three afternoon classes, and she manages to skip by getting a note from the nurse detailing her agonizing cramps. Lydia signs out, heads home, and slides on a Beacon Hills Lacrosse t-shirt over her head. Clad in nothing but the shirt and panties, she dives into bed, turns on her laptop, and finds one of her favorite audiobooks before falling asleep to it.   
  
Lydia is so groggy when the knocking wakes her up, she almost forgets what she was sleeping to avoid.   
  
“Lydia?” Her mom says, poking a head through the door. “Stiles is here to see you.”  
  
Her first instinct is to smile; a floating, uplifting happiness that makes her stretch languorously on her bed. Then she remembers, and her smile vanishes mid-stretch.   
  
“Don’t let him in,” she says urgently, sitting up in bed. “Mom, I can’t see him. Don’t let him near this room.” Natalie Martin’s smile freezes on her face. “He’s already here, isn’t he?” Lydia’s mother nods regretfully. “He’s standing right behind you, isn’t he?”  
  
The door squeaks slightly as Stiles nudges it open with his elbow.  
  
“Hi,” he says dryly. “Missed you in class today.”  
  
Even though she’s furious at him, she can’t help but notice the upturned corner of his mouth and the way his eyes are drinking in her face, starving for her.   
  
“I was sick,” she says, hands twisting into fists around her duvet. “Mom, you can leave.”  
  
Stiles skirts around Mrs. Martin as she closes the door, smiling wanly as it slides shut.   
  
“So,” he says. “I heard. What you said to Scott, I mean.”  
  
“I know,” replies Lydia, pushing back her covers and slipping out of the bed, across the room to Stiles. She ignores the fact that she is in a t-shirt and underwear as she walks up to him, looking at him closely. “Stiles, I really didn’t want you to know that.”  
  
She’s hoping that her closeness will properly communicate what she’s trying to say, but he meets her imploring gaze with a fire burning up in his eyes.  
  
“I wish you did,” he says, dropping his balled-up raincoat to the floor with a bit too much vigor.   
  
“Well, I didn’t, and now I’m going to need you to forget it.”  
  
He scratches the back of his neck, cheeks reddening slightly.  
  
“Lydia,” he says. “I can’t forget that. Not ever. I don’t know why you think that it’s information that I don’t want to hear, but… Give me a chance, Lydia. Give me a chance to want it.”  
  
“You made a choi-”  
  
“I didn’t!” he argues, grabbing her hand between two of his. “Lydia, I really fucking didn’t make a choice.”   
  
“Bullshit.”  
  
“Not bullshit!” Stiles promises, and Lydia snatches her hand away. “Shit, Lydia, I didn’t know I had any option other than to get over you. If I had known, I never would have tried. I would be happy to be not-over-you for as long as humanly possible, if that’s what you want. But I had no fucking clue that it was even on the table.”  
  
She sniffs slightly.   
  
“Well, you could’ve asked.”  
  
Stiles grins, still pink.  
  
“Easy for you to say,” he mutters.   
  
“So,” Lydia replies, getting closer, pressing her hand against his chest. “Now that you know you have a choice-”  
  
“It’s not a choice,” he responds, lids lowering. “I just… love you.”  
  
Her head tilts.  
  
“We should talk about this,” she murmurs, lips brushing against his tantalizingly. He makes a move for her, moving her hands across his chest, over to his rapidly beating heart.   
  
“Yeah,” he agrees. “How did this even happen?”  
  
“We were born, you were obnoxious, now we’re here.”  
  
He laughs, sound rumbling through him as she gets closer.   
  
“Oh fuck,” he says suddenly, rocketing across the room to get away from her. Lydia stares. “I didn’t break up with Malia yet.”  
  
Lydia actually laughs at out.   
  
“You came over here, knowing I was in love with you, without breaking up with Malia?”  
  
“I wasn’t… thinking. About her. About anything but you.”   
  
Rolling her eyes, Lydia walks over to her bedroom door and opens it. When Stiles just stares at her, a small smile on his face, she gestures out into the hallway.   
  
“Go,” she says pointedly. “We’ll talk when you get back.”  
  
He can’t stop looking at her as he stoops to the floor to pick up his balled up jacket and walks slowly to the entrance of the room.  
  
“Promise?” he asks, voice low.  
  
“I promise we will talk,” Lydia says in response, slamming the door in Stiles’ smirking face.   
  
She turns around and leans against it, trying to process. When she bangs her head against the wood, she hears a knock in response.  
  
“You promise?” Stiles asks again, voice muffled.   
  
Lydia bursts into laughter.   
  
“Get out!”


End file.
